


The Math of Love Triangles

by imunbreakabledude



Series: Gemillaneve canon divergence [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Jealousy, Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/F/F, bazoingas, kind of a character study?, there's villaneve too don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”Gemma meets Niko's wife. She meets a stranger in the stairwell. She learns about shapes.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Gemma, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/Gemma, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/Gemma
Series: Gemillaneve canon divergence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177232
Comments: 42
Kudos: 105





	The Math of Love Triangles

Gemma Pierson lived an ordinary life. She always did what was asked of her. She was kind to others. When she had nothing nice to say, she didn’t say anything at all.

Be good, and good will come to you. That’s what her parents always taught her.

So Gemma was good. But the universe didn’t always work the way her parents promised it would.

She inherited a house at age twenty-three, which most people would consider a great stroke of luck. However, it came at the cost of losing her beloved grandmother.

It seems for every gift the universe gives her, it’s delivered with an equal blow of pain. For example, every time she believes she’s found the one, it comes with the painful revelation that he does not want her back.

Gemma has never lacked for attention from men. In fact, she has received plenty of unwanted attention ever since age fifteen when what her grandmother referred to as her “considerable endowment” came in.

She hates these cursed things on her chest, for they’ve only ever attracted the wrong type of men. No, kind and gentle men never turn their head on that basis alone. Men like Niko Polastri…

Smart. His brain for maths compares to that of Pythagoras…

Handsome. His broad frame, his strong hands, and that mustache…

He is everything a man should be. And Gemma loves men.

It hurts her to watch him be so clearly neglected by his wife. Mind you, Gemma has never _met_ his wife, but she can tell that she doesn’t treat him right. She can tell from the defeated slump in his shoulders every day; she can tell from the tone of his phone conversations and how when he hangs up he says she’ll be home late, again; and, she can tell from the way, once in a blue moon, his eyes wander to her chest.

Niko isn’t the sort of man to let his eyes wander if his marriage is going well. Gemma knows the sort of men who do that. Niko isn’t one of those men.

Teachers’ Night is special to Gemma, since it’s one of the only times she gets to spend with Niko without students around. It wouldn’t be right to ask him to dinner, or a drink, anywhere else; he’s married, of course, and Gemma does not want to be _that_ sort of woman. But on Teachers’ Night, though spouses are welcome, Niko’s wife never shows, and so Gemma allows herself to indulge with a glass of wine or two and imagine, for a fleeting moment, that the ring on Niko’s finger is purely decorative.

Tonight, they’re getting on well, when a woman appears. Absolutely stunning Asian woman, hair so big it could have its own post code, curves highlighted by a form fitting blue dress, jacket slung over one incredibly sculpted arm.

And of course, universe sick as ever with the humor, who does the woman come over and kiss, but Niko.

Niko leans into it – who wouldn’t? – Then pulls away apologetically. “Oh, Gemma, this is Eve, my wife.”

“Eve, it is so lovely to finally meet you! You are beautiful!” Gemma laughs. _Well, it’s true_. “Your hair, that dress! Wow, such a babe!” Gemma smacks Niko on the arm in a congratulatory fashion, then takes another sip of wine. A long one.

“Thank you.” Eve smiles, and then Gemma just wants to not feel weird.

“Oh!” She leans in, hugs Eve. “Hello,” she giggles into Eve’s mass of curly hair (it smells like guava!). Eve seems to want freedom, so Gemma lets her go. “We didn’t think that you’d make it.”

“‘We’?” Eve asks.

“Oh, you know,” Gemma gestures around the room. “All of us. We were starting to tease Niko about his imaginary wife.”

“She’s an astronaut,” Niko adds.

“Like an astronaut playboy model!”

Eve smirks. “She sounds better than your actual wife.”

Niko smirks right back. “She is.”

“We all love your husband so much,” Gemma supplies. “And so do the students. He’s amazing.”

“He is great.” Eve pats him on the chest, and Gemma wishes she could touch Niko on the chest like that, and then the next words are out of her mouth before she can even stop them.

“And of course no one believes these stupid complaints.”

“What do you mean?” Eve asks.

Gemma looks at Niko. His expression tells her all she needs to know.

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m an idiot,” Gemma apologizes. _I’ve had too much wine,_ she thinks, as she takes another sip of wine.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing.” Niko sighs in his lovely low voice. “Some kid is prank calling the school, making mad complaints. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Oh, okay,” Eve says. “Well, it’s part of being a teacher I guess.”

“Exactly,” Gemma says, a little too quickly, and laughs again. She finishes her drink. But as she finds her glass empty, silence looms.

Gemma may be drunk – with each passing moment, it’s growing clearer that she’s drunker than she intended to be – but she can still tell she’s overstaying her welcome in this moment between husband and wife. She looks around the room, searching for a lifeboat. Finally, finds one, in the form of another crisis.

“Oh dear,” she says. “I better go and save Emma from Bad-Breath-Alan. The last thing she needs is to accidentally sleep with him! Again!” They all share a laugh at that.

“It was great to meet you,” she says to Eve, touching her on the arm as she goes. And wasn’t it?

As Gemma crashes Emma’s conversation and distracts Alan by asking about his home-grown onion garden, she manages to sufficient divert him enough until Richard arrives. Then, of course, Alan and Richard are off to talk about the latest football match and settle some bet one of them owes the other. Emma whines a bit about Gemma ruining her fun, but Gemma knows she will be grateful tomorrow. In turn, she’s very grateful to Emma, for being in crisis in this moment, and giving her something else to focus on.

Well. She tries. But the truth is, while she listens to Alan drone on about the new type of soil he tried in his garden (and tries not to breathe through her nose), she keeps stealing glances over to Niko and his wife. His very real wife, who has a name. Eve.

It’s no wonder he’s content for only a fraction of her attention. She’s _that_ beautiful. Even in the two minutes they spoke, Gemma saw the way Niko looked at Eve. In other moments, weaker, selfish moments, she thought perhaps Niko might, on the lightest level, fancy her too. But the look she’d occasionally spotted in his eye that she took as a sign of attraction can’t hold a candle to the pureness of his gaze as he looks on Eve.

Love. Undying, marital love.

It wouldn’t matter if Eve really was an astronaut and went off for a fifty year mission to Saturn. Niko would wait for her because he’s that in love.

Gemma doesn’t have to be a maths teacher to tell this doesn’t add up.

Lovely Man plus Sexy Wife equals Happy Couple, with a remainder of Lonely Gemma.

She can’t watch any longer. She runs to the stairwell and lights a cigarette. She plops herself down on the steps and takes a long drag.

Footsteps behind her make her scoot to the side to let the person by. It’s a teacher Gemma doesn’t recognize, a woman with flowing red hair and a style of dress that her grandmother might call “crunchy”, the centerpiece of which is what looks to be a homemade necklace.

At least it’s a woman; she’s had enough experiences where men follow her out of events… small of stature, big of breast as she is, they view her as easy pickings… Thank God for the self-defense classes her parents made her take before university…

The woman goes towards the door and pokes her head out into the hall where everyone’s having drinks. After a quick look, she seems to change her mind, and turns back to Gemma.

“Hey, can I bum one?”

“Oh, erm, yeah, sure.” Gemma offers the box, and her lighter.

“I’m Kim. Thanks.”

“Gemma.”

Kim must be a new hire, maybe to replace that creepy History teacher who had been fired a few months back for peeping in the locker rooms. He was a _real_ creep, not like Niko. It’s awful that a good man like Niko should be accused of such things.

Kim lights the cigarette then gives Gemma back the lighter.

“Is that your boyfriend, the maths teacher? He seems nice.”

Gemma’s a little startled. How long was Kim watching her? Was it that obvious? Had she lost sight of herself, after a few glasses, and touched him too familiarly? “Niko? Um, no. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, sorry! I thought you two were together. You seemed…”

“No, Gemma sighs. “He’s married. Sadly.”

Kim rolls her eyes.

Gemma laughs. “Yeah, it sucks.”

“Hm.” Kim crosses one arm over the other. “I know exactly how you feel.”

For a stranger Gemma has never met before tonight (really, a wonder she’s never crossed paths with her yet), Kim is exactly the friend Gemma needs. Emma’s heard her talk about Niko too many times so that she doesn’t really listen anymore, and she’s always thinking about Alan, anyway, but Kim really _gets_ it.

Soon, Kim’s sat next to her on the step, egging her on.

“I don’t know why they’re even still married!” Gemma says, for the first time voicing the thoughts she usually kept confined to her private rants in the shower. “His wife barely even notices him.”

“Do you think he likes you too?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe.”

“Maybe he just needs a little push.” Kim wears a mischievous grin. “Squirt your perfume in his room so it always smells like you. Flatter him. Make him doubt his wife.”

Gemma laughs. Kim must be joking. “Sounds a bit manipulative.”

“It is. That’s why it works.” Kim smiles. “You _can_ do nothing, and die alone. Do you have cats?”

Gemma swallows. “I have a cat, yes.”

“Yeah. Maybe you should just get another one.”

Gemma does not want to die alone, with only her cat Pompom for company (even if he is good company). In fact, she is determined not to. There must be some way to puzzle out this situation.

There’s a maths term for this, she knows. A love triangle. Alright, maybe she’s mixing up maths and melodrama, but she’s drunk and sad and why is Kim’s kind advice making her feel so shitty?

Gemma doesn’t want to sit sad and do nothing. Much like in maths, when one equation doesn’t add up, it’s time to attack the problem another way.

With her second cigarette in one hand, and half a bottle of wine in her stomach, she leans to the side, takes Kim and kisses her.

Kim looks surprised. Not necessarily upset, just… surprised.

 _Definitely too much wine_ , Gemma thinks.

“What was that?” Kim asks, wary.

Gemma swallows, and repeats a bit of advice Emma had given her in the past. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Of course, she pitied Emma whenever she said that, but Kim takes it in, considering for a moment.

“You might have actually said something intelligent for once.” Kim’s voice sounds different, now. Some accent that Gemma can’t place, but it definitely isn’t English.

“What?”

Then Kim’s voice is back to normal. “Shut up, darling.” She plucks the cigarette from Gemma’s hand, puts it out against the stairs, then grabs Gemma’s face and kisses her back. Very confidently, and forcefully.

“There’s no good men,” Gemma sighs in between kisses. “Niko’s the last one.”

“You should have stopped halfway through that sentence.”

Suddenly, Kim has opened her wrap dress. The front falls open revealing her chest. She is not wearing a brassiere. Gemma has always envied women who can go around like that.

“This could be mutually beneficial,” Kim says, tits hanging out to the breeze. “The best way to make someone want you, after all, is to get with someone else.”

“But wouldn’t the person have to see?” Gemma mumbles as they kiss. “Niko’s out there…”

Kim looks her in the face, utterly commanding. “Don’t worry; it’s all taken care of. Any minute now.”

Then her mouth is on Gemma’s again, but Gemma’s eyes widen as she spots a new figure appear in the doorway. There she is, in all her glory. Niko’s real wife, in her banging blue dress.

“Villanelle!” Eve gasps, a mixture of surprise and recognition in her tone.

“What’s wrong, Eve?” Kim says, and her voice drops back into that strange accent, Russian perhaps. “Are you lonely?”

“I’m confused.”

“Me too,” Gemma squeaks.

“You’re here for me. What are you doing with her?”

Gemma tries to keep up. “Is your name not Kim?”

“What do you care what I’m doing?”

“It’s not fair to put this poor woman in the middle of what’s between us.”

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“I’m going to kill you, like I should have the first time–”

“What is going on?” Gemma shrieks. “Why are you two so angry?”

The other two women point at each other, and speak at the same time.

“She killed my best friend and ruined my marriage!”

“She stabbed me!”

Gemma frowns. “I don’t think violence is ever alright. That has to stop. Besides, Eve, I’ve spoken to Niko, a lot. And it sounds like _you_ have ruined your marriage.”

Kim, or apparently, _Villanelle_ , as Eve called her, smirks at that. “Ha-ha.”

“What’s your problem?” Eve screeches. “You stalk me here, and then I find you canoodling with my husband’s coworker?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Eve.”

“I think it does.”

“Does this concern _me_?” Gemma looks between them, genuinely asking.

“This is insane,” Eve says. “I’m leaving. You can go back to whatever… this is.”

“Gladly,” Villanelle says. “I will continue to give this nice girl dozens of orgasms. I’m sure Niko will get you close, at least. You can finish off after he goes to bed.” Turning away from Eve, she traces a finger underneath Gemma’s chin, and suddenly, the hairs on Gemma’s arms raise. Villanelle leans down, and plants another kiss on Gemma; this time, leading the way herself.

“Oh, Gemma,” Villanelle purrs. “You taste so wonderful. Niko doesn’t know what he is missing.”

Gemma’s mind is a blank. She feels like she ought to say something, but her tongue is literally tied up. “Thammk ymmu?” she mumbles. Villanelle isn’t paying much attention, her eyes dart off to the side, for Eve’s reaction.

Eve shifts her weight to one side, crossing her perfectly toned arms across her chest. She scoffs. “What, is this supposed to make me jealous?”

“It’s supposed to make _Niko_ jealous,” Gemma whimpers.

“That could be a side effect,” Villanelle shrugs.

“Fucking do it, then.”

Gemma looks at Villanelle, tits still out to the wind, and back to Eve, who remains imposing as a member of the Queen’s Guard. “Make me jealous,” Eve sneers, firing every consonant like a missile in that stupidly husky American accent of hers.

“I will.” Villanelle pronounces, slowly, deliberately. She takes Gemma by the frame, and sits her down on the stairs, again; then, presses her even further, so she lies back against the staircase. Gemma doesn’t know exactly what to do, in this situation; it feels like perhaps it’s no longer about her relationship problems, but rather about Niko’s… or… Eve’s? Gemma’s starting to lose track of who’s at the center of this triangle.

Villanelle raises her eyebrows at Gemma. “Are you comfortable?” Gemma nods meekly. Then, Villanelle turns back to Eve. “Would you like to watch?”

Eve opens her mouth, but Villanelle interrupts before she can speak. “Never mind. I think I know the answer.”

Before any further discussion, she’s back on Gemma, facing forward and straddling her on the stairs. Villanelle pulls Gemma’s skirt up and her tights down, and reaches a hand into the warm space between her legs.

Gemma lets out a tiny yelp at the cold touch of Villanelle’s fingers, which raises in pitch as an index finger slips inside her, and it’s _long_. She feels she ought to protest, but soon the pressure on her clit combined with the gentle curl of the finger inside is making her moan in a register she didn’t know she had.

“Listen to her, Eve,” Villanelle croons in that low, Russian accent. “That could be you.”

“I think she can handle more.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You tell me.”

Gemma wants to voice an opinion on the matter seeing as she’s the object of this contest, but before she can say a word Villanelle’s head disappears under her skirt and the pressure on her clit is joined by a tongue licking eagerly at her. With Villanelle out of view, Gemma is left to stare Eve in the face as she reacts to the impossibly limber motions in and out of her folds. Her hands grip onto the edge of one of the stairs until her knuckles ache. Her chest heaves with the effort of taking in enough air to get her through the extremely novel experience she's living.

“What, are you just going to sit there and do nothing?”

It takes a moment before Gemma realizes Eve is talking to her. Has she just been accused of being a dead fish, a pillow princess? What else can she do, she doesn’t know, but Eve’s glaring at her, waiting for something, so Gemma squirms and unhooks her bra… 30F in all its glory, flung onto the ground… It’s about time to let the girls roam free.

“Act like you’re enjoying yourself,” Eve snaps. While Villanelle continues making heavenly movements underneath, Gemma starts to caress her own breasts, her nipples hardening as she traces over them.

“That’s a start,” Eve says, and Gemma notices one of her hands slipping under her own dress. “But you’ll have to do better. This isn’t jealousy, this is… sad.”

Villanelle seems to take this personally, as she switches to sucking on Gemma’s clit with her mouth, and arcing three fingers inside all at once. Gemma’s head pitches back. She’s an English teacher but she can’t think of a single word adequate to describe the overload on her nervous system.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” Eve snaps. Ever-demanding. _Is this how she is with Niko_ , Gemma wonders? “Get out of the way. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Eve steps forward and boxes Villanelle out, shoving her with her shoulder. Villanelle lets out a quiet “Ow”, which Gemma mimics as Villanelle’s fingers are unceremoniously pulled out from between her legs. Less than a second before her presence is replaced by one of Eve’s hands. Her thumb rubs roughly around the entrance, and she shoves two fingers inside, straight away. A bit rougher than Gemma was anticipating. She whimpers.

“I’m sorry, is that too much?” Eve snaps. “You know, Niko’s a lot rougher than that. His hands are _gigantic_.”

“I know,” Gemma whines. Her voice climbs up an octave; she’s nearing the register her grandmother used to call her dog-whistle range.

Before she can fully begin crying, though, Villanelle climbs up the stairs, to sit a few levels higher than Gemma’s head. She bends down from above, and begins kissing her again, warm as before.

 _Like Spider-man,_ Gemma notes hazily, while Villanelle’s tongue probes into her, upside down. It’s hot and cold, yin and yang – Villanelle caressing her softly from above, purring flattering words into her ear as she traces the valley between Gemma’s breasts with one of those _long_ fingers. “These are excellent,” Villanelle says.

Meanwhile, from below, Eve barks orders like there’s no tomorrow. “Take this seriously,” she snaps, and it’s unclear if the command is meant for Villanelle, or Gemma, or indeed herself, for why on Earth should she be sliding her fingers in and out of her husband’s colleague at Teachers’ Night?

 _No_ , no time for questioning. This situation is thoroughly beyond any analysis Gemma could lead her students through in English class; this is a problem well beyond her maths capabilities. Perhaps a college-level calculus course would be able to explain the integral nature of this situation.

Jealousy, isn’t that it? Doesn’t it all come down to _wanting_? Gemma wants, and Kim – no, Villanelle – certainly wants, and in spite of the fact that she already fucking has it all, Eve clearly wants more and more and more and more. Doesn’t really matter _whom_ , but all three of them can join in the wanting and the taking and the having just for a few minutes, at least…

If that’s the nature of the problem, then does Gemma dare? Yes, she does. Gives a new meaning to the term “love triangle”, she notes in her delirium.

While Gemma’s tongue reaches deeper into Villanelle’s throat, she offers a hand down, and rests it on Eve’s shoulder. God, those arms. How _does_ she do it? She traces the curve of Eve’s bicep, ever so gently, and invites her to take a trip upwards. Though her touch is full of venom, her eyes are full of lust, and Eve crawls up the steps, hand over hand, until she’s perched over Gemma, like a predator. She bends down to kiss at Gemma’s exposed breasts. Despite her fearsome demeanor, the touch is soft.

Now, Villanelle is distracted, wanting to see what all the fuss is about. She withdraws from Gemma’s lips, and, like a scavenger fighting over precious food, she butts up against Eve’s head, reaching for Gemma’s other breast. Gemma’s back arches, threatening to throw them off as she aches with the sensation of suction on her nipples.

It’s a frenzy; it’s impossible to keep track of whose lips and fingers are where, doing what. Gemma only knows she’s never felt so overstimulated and yet so desperate for more in her entire life. Has this always been just beyond her fingertips, and she never knew? This entire world she never knew existed? All the wasted years, all the wasted nights, crying over men, crying into women’s shoulders, when she could have been crying _out_ as she reached _into_ them…

The game is shifting, with Eve and Villanelle in direct competition with one another. Gemma hopes one of them is keeping score, because she has lost all ability to mediate. Someone makes her come once, someone else, again; she’s jelly, she doesn’t think she can go on, but she must.

Eve and Villanelle keep feeding other, more and more aggressively, until at one point, Gemma feels no hands on her at all anymore. Gemma opens her eyes to find the two of them completely engrossed in one another, kissing madly. Villanelle’s hands slide down Eve’s toned arms, down the curve of her hips, to rest on her behind.

“It’s about time,” Villanelle muttered, right into Eve’s mouth.

“Take this shit off.” Eve began pulling at Villanelle’s hair, and it came clean off – her auburn tresses were merely a wig, and as it falls to the floor, straight blonde locks fall down to Villanelle’s shoulders. Eve viciously rips off the glasses, too, and tears apart the necklace made of pasta – Gemma lets out a sob at that, for it looked like some child had worked very hard on it, and it probably held sentimental value.

No one else seems to care about the necklace, though. Eve and Villanelle are frantically pawing at each other, muttering words that must bear meaning to them, though they’re incomprehensible to Gemma. “House… Kitchen… Bill… never. Dinner… bathtub… Russia? You could’ve come… or thrown it better. Paris… bed…Taxi… Hospital…. He gave me his pajamas. Down here… Careful, it’s still tender.”

Gemma watches, awestruck, as they consume each other. She’s not sure if she feels left out, or relieved, for the two of them are relentless. She shivers, running one hand over her right breast, while her other dips down to touch herself.

Ordinarily, she’d feel some sort of guilt at this – in front of two real people, not in the privacy of her bedroom, but Eve and Villanelle are both so horrifyingly shameless that it empowers Gemma.

While Villanelle falls to her knees, Eve hikes up that tight blue dress, and Villanelle leans in to taste her. Gemma heats up, with jealousy, or with fascination, she isn’t sure, she’s about six glasses of wine past the ability to make that distinction.

Villanelle’s fingers dig into Eve’s thighs while her face plows into her, and Eve places her hand on the back of Villanelle’s head to pull her closer. “God, that’s good.”

“Yes,” Gemma agrees, with a heavy sigh as she rubbed at her nipple, and leaned harder into herself. Eve cracks her eyes open, and flashes an annoyed look, like she’d forgotten Gemma was there. Before long, though, her face melts into a gentle submission. “That’s… Oksana, that’s…”

 _Oksana?_ Gemma’s more confused than ever, but she keeps her mouth shut, and enjoys the show. Soon, Eve’s breath is coming in hitched gasps of pleasure, low and throaty. Gemma throws her head back, and plunges her fingers, and she’s coming too – she just has time to wonder, is this what Niko hears, when he… before she’s so overwhelmed with pleasure that the edges of the scene start to peel away, like paint thinner pouring on the backdrop before her eyes, and everything’s melting, melting…

——

Something soft tickles at Gemma’s neck. Is it Eve’s hair, is it Villanelle’s gentle touch? She opens her eyes and sees nothing but a pool of drool on her pillowcase. She sits up. She passed out on top of her covers, shoes still on, purse strewn beside her on the bed. She must’ve gotten herself home from Teachers’ Night somehow, and fallen asleep. And dreamt… a lot.

Already, the details fade as she tries to recall them. Pompom sweeps his bushy tail over her face once again. He wants attention. Gemma can relate, but she’s not equipped to provide it right now. She shoos him off the bed.

What on Earth was that _dream_? She met Niko’s wife, she met that other teacher, Kim, but what was that bit after? Kim’s real name, her accent changing, the mysterious history between her and Eve? None of it made any sense… Gemma must have had so much to drink that her memory of the previous night had bled into dream land, then started to unravel into pure, fervid fantasy.

She has a budding headache which will require water and painkillers and a day of recovery, but quickly, before the memory of the dream goes… she reaches for the drawer on her nightstand. Before she opens it, she turns, and glares at Pompom, standing vigil at the foot of her bed, staring.

“Go away,” she says softly. “Mummy needs some privacy.”

Pompom gives her a disapproving purr.

“Pomegranate Reginald Pierson, I said, go to your room. I need a moment.”

Finally, Pompom slinks away. He can have the rest of the house to himself, so long as he gives her a moment by herself.

Gemma opens the drawer, and pulls out her well-used, purple vibrator.

Well-endowed English teacher plus Pasta-necklace Stranger plus Astronaut Playboy Model with Amazing Hair multiplied by Jealousy, all to the power of Vibrator, equals… Happy Gemma.

For a few minutes, at least. But Gemma’s not ashamed of her little fantasy. It’s better than Bad-Breath Alan.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: If you liked this, I'm now writing a [multichapter follow up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031010/chapters/68669547)! check it out!
> 
> this was sitting in my drafts for ages. It's a passion project that I never found good reason to finish. Until KE week came along, and apparently posting 3 things this week wasn't enough for me, so I slapped a theme of jealousy on top and finished my self-indulgence.
> 
> I love Gemma with my entire heart. This is what she deserves.
> 
> join #TeamGemma with me on[tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxoxo


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